


Roadtrip to Paradise

by starkercrossedlovers



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Bottom Tony Stark, M/M, No one knows Peter is Spiderman, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Road Trips, Top Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkercrossedlovers/pseuds/starkercrossedlovers
Summary: Peter is alone after the snap--no money, no home, nothing left. He packs up his shit, takes to the road and meets a familiar face along the way.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter 1

Tony tosses another bag into the trunk of his car, ignoring the protests Pepper is still trying to make. He’d told her a week ago that he was going away, for how long he didn’t know, until he was ready to come back probably, but she hadn’t taken him seriously until he had handed off team leadership of the Avengers to Steve and told the SI board not to contact him unless the company was in imminent danger of collapse or hostile takeover.

Given that neither of those things are likely, he’s looking forward to a couple of weeks of silent bliss.

“I just, Tony, what if something happens?”

Tony shoots her a wry look, “Like the end of the world? Pep, we already did that. Got the shirt and everything,” he drawls before slamming the trunk closed. When he looks at her more closely he sighs, seeing the fear in her eyes always makes him hurt. She’s never quite forgiven him for going to space and almost dying, and it’s him leaving now that hammers the final nail in the coffin for their relationship.

He loves her, always has and always will, but she can’t accept him for who he is, and he’s not sure there’s anyone who ever could. Steve couldn’t, and it had very nearly destroyed them both.

So he was leaving. Taking some time to heal, leave the weight of Avengers and Iron Man behind and find out who he was without all the trappings of that life surrounding him.

He takes one of Pepper’s hands in his and squeezes, smiling gently at her. “I have to go Pep. After Thanos and the end of the world and almost dying, I need space. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, believe me that’s not what I wanted, but I can’t stay. I’ll be back, and if you need me, you can call me.”

He squeezes her hand again when she sniffles, eyes lined with red as she nods and leans in to kiss his cheek softly. Her forehead presses into his temple and they stand together for a long time, quiet and steady and he almost asks her to come with him, almost thinks they can fix this thing, but he knows deep down, it won’t be fixed this time.

Gently, he turns his chin and kissed her, soft and fleeting and nudges her nose with his. “I love you. Always will.”

She makes a soft wounded noise and nods, pulling back so he can see the tears gleaming in her eyes, the grief in her face like a punch to the gut. She cups his cheek and sighs, nods, and lets it trail away.

“Call me every few days?” she asks, voice hoarse and low.

“Of course,” he agrees—it’s easy enough and he knows eventually he’ll miss her and want to hear her voice, so it’s a smart agreement for them both. He swings the car door open and gives her one last smile, “See you when I see you,” he murmurs before sliding in and closing the door.

She watches him as he pulls away, her figure impossibly small in the rear view mirror before he looks away, turns his gaze forward, to what lies ahead.

———————

Peter hauls the backpack onto his shoulder and stuffs the last of his belongings into a duffel bag, glancing around the empty apartment with a heavy heart. When the world had unexpectedly ended, May had turned to ash right in front of his eyes, and when everyone else had come back, she hadn’t.

He’d gone through most of the savings May had left behind trying to pay bills and stay ahead of rent, but with school and patrolling, he didn’t have time for more shifts with Mr. Delmar, and eventually he’d fallen so far behind he’d received an eviction notice.

He’s got nowhere to go and no one to help him, so he’s sold everything of value in the apartment, stowed the cash in various pockets and bags, and with nothing more than one look back, leaves his whole world behind.

He walks, for hours and hours, with no real destination in mind, only the idea that he has to find somewhere new to start over. The city holds too many ghosts—MJ and her family are gone, moved to Connecticut, and Ned is just gone, ashes in the wind.

He heads west, hitching rides with families and walking when he can’t find anyone who doesn’t look serial killer-y. He wonders if he can walk the whole way to the other coast, hands in his pockets as the sky darkens overhead and thunder rumbles. He imagines reaching the shore and kicking off his sneakers, toes in the sand as the water washes over him.

He’s somewhere outside Indianapolis and his sneakers are starting to wear thin, his socks squishing grossly as he tries to avoid the largest puddles along the road. He hasn’t seen a car in hours and he’s shivering, soaked to the bone despite his jacket, hungry and exhausted, when in the distance he hears a car approaching.

He glances back and sighs, it’s an expensive looking Audi which means the owner definitely won’t stop for someone as bedraggled looking as Peter. He hunkers down, waiting for the rush of wind and spray of water as it goes flying past, but instead he hears it slow and then in the periphery of his vision sees the the sleek silver vehicle following him slowly.

A window rolls down and a deep voice calls out. “Hey kid, you need a ride?”

He hesitates and then turns, bends to peer into the car, heart lurching at the familiar face peering at him.

_Tony Stark_

His crush and idol and what the _hell_ is he doing out here in the middle of nowhere?!

He realizes he’s standing there with his mouth hanging half open when Tony raises a brow and smirks, “Well? You gettin in?” he asks, “Last call.”

Peter glances back at the empty road and the lonely one ahead and then back to where Tony’s dark eyes are watching him. Nodding slowly, he opens the door and slings his backpack into his lap, wincing as his wet clothes squeak against the leather.

“Sorry, I’m going to ruin your seats,” he murmurs, hunching to try and make himself as small as possible. Tony scoffs and reaches back, digs for a moment and then passes him a warm flannel blanket.

“Bundle up kid, you look frozen.”

Peter takes the blanket and wraps it around himself, glancing up in surprise a few moments later when the seat under him grows warm. Tony shoots him a grin and then refocuses on the road ahead, hands draped casually over the wheel.

“Where you going?” he asks, glancing over at Peter quickly.

“I don’t know. Thought I’d try and make it to the west coast,” Peter admits. “Maybe go and see the Grand Canyon, some national parks.” He shrugs, “I don’t really have a plan.”

Tony nods and taps his fingers on the wheel, “Running to or away from something?” he asks, far too insightfully for Peter’s comfort.

He turns away and peers out the window, breath fogging the glass slowly.

“I don’t have anything left to run from or to. It’s just me.”

With that, silence falls, deafeningly loud in the small confines of the car as the wipers slap against the windshield, steady and monotonous. The rain patters against the glass and Peter’s eyes flutter as he warms and falls asleep slowly.

————————

The kid is a mystery, Tony decides. Unwilling to talk about his life before the moment he picked him up on the side of the road, he knows little more than his name and age—Peter Parker, 18.

He resets his GPS for the Grand Canyon and points the car northwest, avoiding well used roads in favor of side routes and scenic winding highways. The landscape changes slowly in places and abruptly in others.

When he’s too tired to drive he pulls to the side of the road and nudges the kid and rouses him from his sleep, biting back a grin when he looks up with sleepy eyes and mussed hair, cheeks pink and lips parted around a yawn.

“You have a license?” he asks, humming appreciatively when the kid nods. “Good your turn,” he mutters before getting out and stretching, groaning as his vertebrae pop and strain. He leans against the car as Peter stumbles out, blinking and glancing around curiously.

The air is wet and warm, and in the distance he sees mountains on the horizon. They’ve still got a few days till they’re at Yellowstone, but he finds himself enjoying the way the kid looks around in curiosity, a small smile curling up his lips.

Peter glances over the hood of the car at him and blinks; “Where are we?”

“Good question. Somewhere in Illinois. Got another day or so till we’re at Yellowstone.”

The kid blinks in surprise and then frowns, “You don’t have to take me to Yellowstone, I’m sure you have other places you want to go.”

Tony just shrugs because he really doesn’t. That’s the whole point of this trip—no end goal, just wandering and letting himself relax for the first time in a decade. God, has it really been that long? Has he really not been able to breathe for so many years?

Something in his chest loosens at the thought that he doesn’t ever have to go back if he doesn’t want to, that he can just keep driving, leave all of it in the past.

“I, uh, I don’t have a plan kid, don’t have anywhere I need to be, and frankly, I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon either. So if it’s ok with you, I’d like to go.”

They stare at each other for a long moment before Peter nods uncertainly and crosses around the vehicle to stand by him, peering up at him for a moment before grinning and holding out his hand for the keys.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me drive a car this nice,” he jokes as Tony drops them into his palm.

He rolls his eyes and saunters away, feeling the kid’s gaze still on him and then shoots him a grin, “It’s equipped with an AI and a baby monitor protocol for anyone other than me driving. It has a steel reinforced body and protocols that make it nearly impossible to crash. FRIDAY literally won’t let you crash or go over 80 miles per hour.” He laughs at the disgruntled look on Peter’s face and slides into the seat, still warm from his body and pulls his seatbelt on while the kid does the same.

He fiddles with the seat for a minute and then glances at Tony before checking his mirrors and pulling back onto the road, blinkers going despite the empty highway around them. Tony smirks at his obvious adherence to the rules and files it away as another piece of the mystery that is Peter Parker.

So far he knows the following:

  * Peter snores when he sleeps
  * He likes pop music over classic rock
  * Won’t ask for, but will accept rides from near strangers—Tony’s not sure this counts since he’s literally one of the most famous men in the world, but still, the kid doesn’t actually _know_ him
  * Hasn’t seen the Grand Canyon
  * Is from Queens
  * Likes Starbucks and matcha tea
  * Follows the rules



He watches the scenery pass by as the kid drives, some pop xm radio station playing in the background while fields of wheat and herds of cattle flash past. When he wakes up it’s dark out, well past midnight and the kid looks as exhausted as he still feels.

After a quick search by FRIDAY he finds a bed and breakfast in twenty miles and has the gps reset. It’s late when they pull in but to his surprise there’s still someone at the desk—a grey haired woman who smiles pleasantly at them and offers them the last room she has—“You and your son will have to share I’m afraid,” she tells them, rambling right over their protestations as she points out the amenities along the way.

When the door shuts behind them the silence is nearly overwhelming before Tony glances around and spots that there’s just one bed and a couch, which the kid is already heading towards with slumped shoulders and a weary air.

“We can share,” he offers, before he really has a chance to think about it. Peter stills and turns to stare at him, wide eyed and scared looking and shit, yea, that sounded like the opening line to a bad porno, so he tries again. “We’re both exhausted and need to sleep in a real bed. I’m not trying to seduce you, I promise.”

Peter stares at him for minute before laughing shyly and ducking his head with a nod, “Yea, okay. Mind if I shower first?” he asks softly, waiting for Tony’s nod before he heads into the bathroom and the door shuts with a soft click behind him.

Tony kicks off his sneakers and flops onto the bed, groaning at the firm support on his tired spine. Maybe he and the kid can take a day tomorrow…today…whatever…and just walk around, see what this little town holds in store for them. He has FRIDAY run a search to see what’s interesting in town and is surprised to find three places to eat with four stars and a local museum on aeronautics and engineering that looks mildly interesting.

Tossing his phone aside, he curls on his side and closes his eyes—just till the kid is done in the shower he promises himself—and for the first time in days, relaxes to the sound of another person in his space. He can hear the rush of the shower and what sounds like Peter singing to himself, and the wind outside rustles the branches and he’s asleep before he has a chance to realize it’s happening.

——————

When Peter steps out of the bathroom he stills, staring at Tony where he’s fallen asleep on top of the covers fully dressed. The older man’s face is softer in sleep, unlined and open—so different than the public face he’s worn in the news clips he’s watched over and over again.

Dressing quickly in an oversized sweater and briefs, he shoves his dirty clothes into a bag and grabs his phone and charger. He turns off the lights and uses his enhanced senses to make his way to the bed, biting back a groan of delight at how good the bed feels to his weary body.

“Kid?”

Peter startles for a moment and then nods, “Yea?”

“You okay?”

He frowns, “I’m fine, why?”

He senses Tony’s shrug as the older man sighs, “Jus checkin’…get some sleep,” he urges before rolling off the bed. Peter can see in the faint gloom his outline as he strips off his clothes till he’s down to his briefs too, the par moonlight falling across his shoulders and hip in a sharp slash, revealing the numerous scars he’s earned over the years as Iron Man.

When he turns and Peter sees the arc reactor containing the bleeding edge armor he’s famous for, his heart skips a beat. There’s more scars here too, painful ones, and he remembers seeing the video of his captivity in Afghanistan a few years after it happened.

Tony’s gaze meets his in the dark and there’s a long moment where neither say anything and then Tony grins grimly, spreads his arms and gestures at himself, “Take it all in, the glory of being Iron Man,” he says bitterly, “is it what you thought?” he asks, “Do you wanna touch them too?”

Peter sits up and leans forward, frowning deeper, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs—

“What? Why?”

“Because, people have made you feel like you’re only valuable because you’re Iron Man. You bleed too—nearly died to save the universe, and they treat your scars like some fetish to be petted and drooled over. They’re your pain and you deserve to keep them private, to deal with them how you want. So I’m sorry.”

Tony stares at him, hands falling to his sides as his gaze darkens, then turns away.

“Most people don’t see it that way.”

“Most people can go suck a dick.”

Tony looks up at him sharply and then bursts out laughing, the weary, lonely look washing away in a tide of relief and amusement. “Kid, I couldn’t say it better.”

Peter grins, happier now that he’s made Tony smile and laugh. “Well, I’m happy to tell you that as often as you need,” he offers, leaning back against the pillow as Tony slides back into bed beside him.

“You’d tell me to go suck a dick?” Tony teases, eyes crinkling around the edges as he grins at Peter. The bright look in his eyes, playful and warm, has Peter blushing and avoiding his gaze.

“N-no! I mean, I’d tell you that other people should…god, sorry, let’s go to sleep,” he mutters, hoping Tony can’t see his embarrassment in the dark. To his unending gratitude, Tony hums in agreement and they shuffle around for a few minutes before settling.

It’s oddly intimate, even though there’s a good foot of space between them. He can feel Tony’s warmth behind him, sense his shoulders rising and falling with each breath, smell the warm scent of his skin…

When he shifts and realizes he’s hard he flushes harder and buries his face in the pillow. Ignore it and it’ll go away he reasons, counting slowly backwards from three thousand.

By the time he’s at fifteen hundred he’s too tired to pay attention to his dick and by the time he hits a thousand he’s falling asleep.

——————

Warm. Blissfully, deliciously warm.

That’s the first thing he notices as he wakes. The second and third are his dick(hard) and Peter(in his arms).

_Fuck_

Rolling away carefully, he dislodges himself and heads to the shower, letting the water pour over his head as he tries to ignore his body’s reaction. It’s not Peter, he tells himself, it’s just because it’s morning….but a small part of his brain helpfully supplies the fact that it’s been months—almost a year actually—since he’s woken up hard.

He’s clean and there’s no excuse not to get out except he’s _still_ hard. Gritting his teeth and bracing a hand against the wall, he wraps a hand around his cock and strokes, slow and firm like he likes. His thumb scrapes along the edge of his head, foreskin pulled back so a wave of heat rushes up his spine at the touch.

Unbidden, images of Peter blushing in the dark, gazing at him intently flash behind his closed eyes. He recalls the sound of his laughter and the way his eyes sparkle when he gazed up at him, longing and sweet sorrow shining in their depths.

He strokes faster and twists his wrist at the top, groaning as he pulls harder, recalling the weight of Peter in his arms, the scent of his hair and skin, the hot brand of his stomach beneath his palm where he had shoved a hand beneath that bulky sweater in the night and then he’s spilling against the tile, panting and shuddering, and _oh god,_ he’s **fucked**.

——————

They head out for breakfast, a small diner that smells like bacon but has vegan options, so he orders both and calls it balance. He watches the kid debate before trying to order and nudges his ankle with his foot, drawing those wide eyes up to meet his.

“Get what you want kid, I’m paying.”

Peter tries to protest and he smirks, shakes his head, “You drive and I’ll pay, cool?” he offers, grinning when the kid mutters no, but lets the topic lie.

To his surprise Peter orders pancakes, a green smoothie, sausage and eggs, and black coffee. What’s even more impressive is the fact that he manages to eat it all.

They do end up going to the museum, and he’s a little blown away by how intelligent Peter is—he hauls Tony around the museum, babbling excitedly about the inventions and the inventors and what the modern day applications have yielded…

And it’s the nicest day Tony’s had in a long time. Peter is sweet and eager and so goddamn smart that he’s half tempted to hire him on the spot and send him back to Pepper so he can change the face of the world with that brilliant beautiful mind of his—but he sees the grief in the kids eyes as he stumbles over names(MJ and Ned) and clams up when he tried to get more details—so he knows that like him, the kid has scars, he just isn’t ready for them to be bared to the world.

——————

They stay another night and then get up early, Peter behind the wheel again as they get closer and closer to Yellowstone.

“Favorite food” Peter prompts him, taking the easy route in this game of 20 questions they’ve been playing for fifteen minutes.

“Shawarma.”

“I heard the Avengers had shawarma after the battle of New York, is that true?” Peter asks eagerly, glancing over at him with a grin.

His hands tighten on his knees as he recalls the aftermath of that day—panic attacks, extremis, Thanos—and shudders.

“Yea, we did,” he answers as evenly as he can. “Why’d you leave Queens?” he asks quickly, turning the tables with a question he knows the kid doesn’t want to answer.

Peter stares out the window at the road ahead, face stoic and blank, silence settling uneasily between them. Tony sighs and turns to look out the window, wondering if he’ll ever be able to ask the right questions and stop hurting people.

———————

Tony pays the entrance fee to Yellowstone and they drive in campsites and trees and mountains rolling past. It’ll take five hours to get to the south rim of the Canyon so they decide to get a camper for the night and go out hiking—the Audi horribly conspicuous next to trucks and suvs splattered in mud and dust.

A few people notice him but don’t take photos, and when they head out for a hike, he’s got a ball cap and sunglasses on against the glare of the setting sun. Peter is still quiet—after their game of 20 questions ended abruptly, he’d kept quiet through the drive.

He’s a little out of breath when they reach the Lake Butte Overlook, and then he’s breathless for another reason entirely. He’s seen a lot of amazing things in his life, but this, this is astounding.

They stand together, watching the sun slip over the horizon so the clouds turn a bruised blue in some places and a burnt pink in others.

“My aunt died.”

It’s abrupt, and when he glances over, Peter is staring out at the lake intently. He nods and turns his gaze away, waiting to see if he’ll say more.

“When everything ended? When Thanos murdered half the universe? He took my aunt.”

He hears Peter’s breath hitch before he continues and fights the urge to reach out in comfort, hands clenching by his sides.

“My parents died when I was a kid so my aunt and uncle raised me till he was killed by muggers, and then it was just me and her.”

There’s a long moment of silence and then—“Then it was just me.”

His eyes fall shut as grief swells within him and it tastes like copper and gags him, he swallows hard to try and push it back, deep uneven breaths until he can open his eyes and calmly speak.

“I’m sorry. It took too long to get everyone back, some people just didn’t come back, I’m sorry kid.”

Peter looks over at him finally, brow furrowed, “I don’t blame you Mr. Stark, you did everything you could. I just wish things were different,” he says with a sad little smile and Tony’s heart breaks.

“Me too kid, me too,” he murmurs, smiling just as sadly back at him.

God, how he’s wished things were different.

———————

The camper is quiet that night, the small space leaving them bumping into each other and apologizing, the awkward air growing with each minute. Eventually Tony heads outside, builds a fire and stares up at the stars overhead. Peter lingers inside for a few minutes before joining him, wrapped in a blanket and shivering, but smiling softly.

It’s so dark here they can see the Milky Way overhead, and the sight of the stars sends a shudder over his skin—it’s too easy to recall how they look up close, how cold space is, silent and empty and lonely when you’re dying.

He tears his gaze away and breaths slowly, trying to calm himself. When he looks up again Peter is watching him with a curious, knowing gaze.

“I almost starved to death in space, actually, oxygen deprivation would have gotten me first, but yea, can’t look at the stars without feeling it again.”

Peter just nods and pokes the fire with a stick, silent for the moment.

“I left Queens because I was evicted and I knew I couldn’t survive there. There’s nothing left for me there anyway,” he mutters, shadows darkening his face.

Tony bites back the urge to offer to pay for an apartment, knowing that throwing money at the kid won’t actually solve the problem—money can’t bring back the dead—and that’s what the kid needs more than money, is family.

They sit in silence until the fire burns down and he throws water on it and rakes it for a few minutes to make sure the embers die before he follows the kid into the camper. He shivers once the heat of the fire bleeds out of his skin and glances over to where Peter is curled in a ball in the sleeping bag on the opposite side of the camper.

He strips his jeans and replaces them with a soft pair of cotton pants before he crawls into his own sleeping bag, shivering as he shuts off the lantern. The fabric of the sleeping bag whispers as Peter rolls over and he can see the pale skin of his face in the gloom, staring over at him.

“Do you…”

He trails off and Tony hums, “Do I?”

“Believe in god?”

That’s a surprise—but then, given what they’ve been talking about, it isn’t.

“I dunno kid. People say Thor is a god, but he’s not, he’s just an alien with fancy technology and science we don’t understand. If there is a god, I’d sure as fuck like to know where he gets off letting Thanos destroy the universe he created.”

His voice is bitter and Peter nods, face softening with something that looks like relief. He sees the shudder that runs over the kid and counts to ten as he weighs the cost/benefit ratio of inviting the kid to come slee next to him and share body heat.

 _Fuck it_ , he decides—“C’mere kid, we’re both freezing and we don’t have to be,” he murmurs, sitting up so he can unzip his sleeping bag and wave Peter over. There’s half a moment of hesitation from the boy before he’s hurrying over with his pillow and sleeping bag, murmuring a quiet _thank you._

They curl close under the warmth of the flannel lining of the sleeping bag and after a few moments Peter’s icy feet press against his shins, eliciting a sharp curse and a breathless laugh from both of them. When Peter edges away with an apology his arm shoots out to grab his hip, pulling him closer without thought.

“It’s fine kid, c’mon,” he whispers, chest tight as he tries to stay calm. Peter nods and edges back, the curve of his back pressing into Tony’s chest slowly. They both still, stiff and wary, and then Tony’s hand at his hip slides around his waist to band him against his body, every inch of them pressed together searingly hot.

“This okay?” he asks hoarsely, breath whispering out against Peter’s neck. He doesn’t miss it when the kid shivers and his stomach tightens beneath Tony’s palm—he’s unconsciously slid it beneath the sweater the kid is wearing, so it’s skin to skin and he can feel how taut his body is.

“Y-yea, s’fine,” Peter murmurs breathily, curls shifting as he adjusts his head on the pillows, a waft of his scent filling Tony’s nose. He bites back a groan and wills his cock to behave, thankful he hasn’t gotten hard—yet.

They’re both stiff and uneasy until Tony starts to fall asleep and then Peter rolls over and nuzzles into him and his hand curls in his hair, pulling him closer as he falls asleep.

——————

Peter wakes early the next morning, warm and snuggled into Tony. His thigh is hitched around Tony’s hips, and to his horror, he’s hard. Tucking his head under Tony’s chin, he takes slow, steady breaths and tries to will it away, praying Tony stays asleep so he can deal with this.

He isn’t so lucky though, because just a few minutes later Tony is waking with low, sleepy noises that only serve to make him harder. It’s not fair really; anyone would be aroused if they were in his position, pressed against Tony Stark, the object of his affection since he was seven and arguably one of the most attractive men in the world.

He’s petrified still, breathing as slow and steady as he can to fool Tony into thinking he’s still asleep. The hand at the base of his spine slides up and he loses control, shudders and whines brokenly, trying to keep it in, and failing. He can feel it when Tony stills, hand pressed to the knobs of his spine, heart beating rapidly beneath his cheek.

He wonders if Tony will say something, try and play it off, or maybe, he’ll touch him again. He wants it, badly, and then it seems like Tony’s heard his though because his hand slides down to the small of his back and then back up, but this time his nails drag over Peter’s skin and he can’t help the broken gasp that shudders out of him, nor the instinctual stutter of his hips.

Burying his face in Tony’s neck, he burns with shame and arousal until the hand at his back slides down to his hip and tightens. “‘S it feel good sweetheart?” Tony asks, voice low and hoarse and another shudder runs over him.

Nodding, he gasps against his neck wetly, “‘M sorry, it’s wrong, I didn’t mean to,” he pleas, hoping Tony won’t hate him for rutting against him like an animal in heat.

Tony hushes him softly, free hand reaching down to wrap around his thigh, the strength in his grip and the callouses on his fingers making him tremble, imagining the way they’d feel on the rest of his skin.

“Shh sweetheart, it’s okay,” Tony murmurs, his voice low and rough in Peter’s ear. “You want me to keep touching you?” he offers, and yea, Peter wants that, but he’s scared, so scared that Tony’s going to think he’s just some kid, that he’ll tire of him and leave him behind when he gets bored of him or finds someone better.

He doesn’t know what to say and now he’s frustrated and aroused and he shakes his head and presses it into Tony’s throat, breathless. “I don’t, I don’t _know_ ,” he pants, “I don’t…want you to, to see me as some kid. I don’t want you to go,” he whimpers pathetically, tears burning in his eyes.

“Hey, woah, why would I go?” Tony asks, shifting so he can stare down at Peter in confusion and concern. He lifts his hand from Peter’s thigh to cup his chin and tilt it so their gazes meet, “What’s wrong Pete?”

A tiny sob hiccups out of his chest and he clings to Tony, “Everyone goes! Everyone! I just found you—don’t go!” he begs, tears blinding him as they finally fall. Tony curses and rolls toward him, gathering him into his arms and hushing him gently.

“I’m not going anywhere kid, I promise. I’m staying with you.”

————————

They don’t talk about it.

They talk about everything else; engineering, biomechanics, the Avengers, his aunt May, which Godfather movie is the best (the second, obviously), where to get the best slice of pizza in manhattan, and on and on until they finally arrive at the south rim of the canyon, just as the sun is setting.

They climb up from the car to the overlook and watch it together, sitting in the red dust as the sky turns crimson, silently leaning into each other as Mother Nature puts on a fiery display. As the sun sets further Peter’s head falls onto Tony’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is, because he enjoys the weight of it, soft scent of Peter’s hair in his nose, the way Peter sighs softly, like he’s finally happy and relaxed.

“Where do you wanna go next?” he asks softly, not wanting to break the tranquility of the moment. Peter sighs and shrugs a shoulder, breath warm on Tony’s neck.

“Wherever you’re going,” he finally answers, “I want to go with.”

Tony nods, sliding an arm around his shoulders to hold him closer, turning his chin so he can inhale the sweet scent of the boy next to him, comforting and familiar. Before he can question the action, he presses his lips to his temple and hums softly, happier than he’s been in a very long time.

———————

Weeks pass.

They spend a few days at Yellowstone, swing down and visit Yosemite, then back up to Portland, Seattle and keep going down through California wine country.

Tony pays for everything and Peter drives, and slowly, they come to know each other.

The list of things Tony knows about Peter grows and it gets easier to share his own life with the young man. He tells Peter about Howard—the abuse, the emotional manipulation and neglect, and in turn Peter tells him about watching his Uncle Ben die right in front of him.

They’ve stopped in Monterey, renting out a house that overlooks the ocean, taking a break from living on the road, sleeping in hotels and eating shitty diner food at 3am. It’s a nice break, and both men are grateful for it.

Peter stares out the wide bay windows to where Tony is on the phone with Pepper—his one time assistant and fiancé, now his….well, Peter isn’t sure exactly. Tony’s said she’s his best friend and someone he’ll always love—but where that leaves them, Peter isn’t sure.

Tony glances up and smiles at him, eyes crinkling around the edges, handsome face tanned from the sun, hair shot through with silver in places and Peter shivers, blushes, and ducks his chin.

There is this aspect to their friendship that hasn’t been addressed; how they sleep in the same bed despite it no longer being necessary. How Tony pets his hair when they’re sitting or laying together.

Most days one or both of them wakes up hard, and usually when it’s Peter, Tony holds him close and runs his hand over his back, murmuring soft sleepy words of assurance and affection till he’s coming in his boxers, untouched.

It should be weird, or awkward, but it’s not. If anything it’s comforting. He knows Tony will take care of him, and in return Peter gets to make sure Tony sleeps, eats full meals and joins him for runs and yoga. The stress lines around Tony’s mouth and eyes have disappeared in the last two weeks, and everyday he smiles more.

His hands move independently from his busy mind and when he hears the patio door open, he glances up to find Tony leaning on the bar across from him with an amused smirk on his face.

“You know you’re better with those knives than some chefs?”

Peter nods but doesn’t reply—he hasn’t told Tony yet about being Spider-Man and the advantages that come with it—namely, enhanced senses that allow him to handle weapons with ease.

“Looks good,” the older man muses and reaches out to steal a cherry tomato, a little dribble of juice turning his lips red. Peter stares at it for a moment, heat building in his stomach before he turns away and shoves the kebabs into the fridge, letting the cool air wash over him.

“How’s Pepper?” he asks, turning back around to hand Tony a sparkling water, mimicking his posture and leaning forward onto the granite of the island.

“Good, I think she’s surprised by how good she is when I’m not there to fuck everything up,” Tony says, smirking as he sips his water. Peter frowns reproachfully at him and shakes his head.

“You didn’t fuck everything up. You made mistakes, like every other human does. Even Captain America made mistakes, so don’t hold yourself to some ideal that no one can actually meet.”

Tony stares at him for a long moment and then exhales slowly, looking away as he nods. “I…thanks kid. I guess I still need to hear that every once in awhile.” He looks up in surprise when Peter’s hand covers his where it’s resting on the counter, smiling softly in return at the warm affection in Peter’s gaze.

Peter’s stomach flutters and he nods nervously, peeling his hand away from Tony’s with a sense of loss. “Are you uh hungry?” he asks, turning half toward the fridge, “Dinner is ready whenever we want.”

Tony stares at him a second and then nods, straightening with a carefully neutral smile, “Yea sure kid, let’s eat.”

—————

They eat on their little strip of beach, skewers charred from the open flames of the fire. The waves crash further down the beach and Peter sips from a glass of sparkling water, seated beside Tony in deck chairs, watching the sunset.

It’s a comfortable silence stretched between them and as the sun slips lower, Peter finds his gaze on Tony more and more. For his part, the older man doesn’t seem to mind, meeting Peter’s gaze with a warm smile and soft eyes that make his stomach flip.

He’d be lying—has tried to lie—if he said he doesn’t want Tony, but he’s not sure what Tony wants from him. He picked him up on the side of the road and taken him on an extended road trip, bought him new clothes and shoes and paid for everything he’s needed, and hasn’t once asked for anything in return except for friendship and company.

So maybe, maybe this is something he’s allowed to ask for.

Tony stands and smiles down at him, “Think I’ll head to bed, you enjoy the fire a bit, hmm?” he murmurs, and before Peter can do more than gape at him stupidly, he’s walking into the house without a glance back.

—————

Tony scrubs a hand over his face as he leans against the shower wall, picturing the look on Peter’s face when he had left him, sitting by the fire, alone.

Hurt didn’t even begin to describe it.

It killed him to do it, but he’s started to wonder if the kid even has any interest in him, because despite their continued closeness and the odd morning hard on pressed against his hip, the kid hasn’t tried anything.

Shutting off the water, he towels at his head as he walks back into the bedroom, pausing, wide eyed when he finds Peter sitting on the bed, gaze fixed on his naked body before he looks up and blushes spectacularly.

“I uh, I want you,” Peter mumbles, blushing harder as he runs a hand over his arm nervously, “Um, I don’t, do you?”

Tony stares at him dumbfounded because, yea, this is apparently happening right now, and it’s not a dream, the kid is actually looking at him with wide hopefuls eyes and a nervous smile.

He takes too long to respond because Peter shoots to his feet, head bobbing anxiously, “Right, no, of course not. I’ll uh, ok, I’ll be down the hall,” he babbles, making for the door.

Tony’s brain finally catches up and the towel slips from his fingers as he strides across the room and grabs Peter, yanking him back around and into his chest with a soft huff. He kisses him, graceless and hungry, desperate to prove how much he wants him. When he pulls back, Peter’s got a dazed expression on his face and he smiles softly, thumb caressing his jaw.

“Stay, Peter, please.”

Peter nods slowly and gazes up at him through his lashes, “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this just because I want to,” he assures Tony and it hits him then, that Peter doesn’t realize how much he likes him. So he kisses him again, deeper this time, fingers tangling in his hair as he tilts Peter’s chin so he can devour him.

“I’m sure baby, you’re all I want,” he whispers against his lips. “That good with you?”

Peter makes a strained high pitched noise and nods, “Y-yea, very good,” he agrees before surging up to kiss Tony.

They fumble back towards the bed, stripping off Peter’s clothing till they’re skin to skin and trading hot, hungry kisses. The kid moans as he bites and kisses his throat, beard leaving a burning sensation as he goes and before he gets a hand on his cock, the kid struggles away and blurts—

“I’m Spider-Man.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“I’m Spider-Man.”_

He’s pretty sure he’s heard the kid right, but his brain can’t seem to wrap around the new information so he just stares dumbly down at Peter.

He’s rendered mute for so long that Peter’s brow furrows and he pokes a finger into his chest, “Uh, Tony? Should I, uh, I mean, I can go…” he offers weakly and _that_ snaps him out of his daze, finally.

Shaking his head he rolls to the side and runs a hand through his hair, “No, no stay. I just need some more details to process,” he explains with a wry smile, “scientist needs data,” he jokes.

Peter laughs at that, a little awkward, but nods and sits up, seemingly unabashed of his nudity. Tony takes a second to appreciate it, gaze lingering on his cock—thicker than he’d expected and still hard, despite the sudden ramp down in attention to it.

“So I uh, got bitten by this radioactive spider and my genes mutated. Now I have increased flexibility, strength, healing and the ability to climb walls.”

Tony nods thoughtfully, “The webs are organic?” he guesses, brows lifting when Peter shakes his head.

“I made them.” His face darkens and he glances away, “but I don’t do that anymore. Not since…”

He doesn’t have to finish that sentence for Tony to know exactly what he’s talking about. “No, I understand. That’s why I left New York.” He pauses for a moment and then presses a little, “What happened to the suit?”

Peter sighs and gestures to his bags, “I couldn’t get rid of it. It’s…I dunno, still part of me. If that makes sense. It feels wrong to destroy it, even if I can’t be him right now.”

Tony nods and reclines till his shoulder is bumping Peter’s, “Believe me, I get it. More than you know.”

They lay in silence for a long time and when Peter finally rolls toward him, he’s grateful for the distraction from his increasingly maudlin thoughts.

Peter traces his fingers over Tony’s chest, gentle and light, eyes steady on his face, gaze curious and hungry. Tony lays still as he touches him, soft and explorative, tracing over the lines on his brow before skating down the bridge of his nose and over his cheekbones.

It’s surprisingly arousing—even when he’s slowed down and made love to Pepper in the past, it wasn’t like this. This is exploration, discovery of new lands and sensations and he wonders if Peter’s ever done this before.

“Have you done this before?” he blurts, cursing his filter when Peter’s fingers still on his jaw, gaze flicking up to his.

Peter nods after a moment, “Some stuff with girls and a few times with an old boyfriend.” He resumes his light touches and his gaze follows, avoiding Tony’s eyes as he continues, “My senses are turned way up because of the bite. It can,” he pauses and chooses his words carefully, “it can be a lot when other people touch me.”

Tony hums and nods faintly, “So it’s easier to touch other people,” he guesses and is rewarded with a small smile from Peter. “We don’t have to, have sex,” he clarifies, “Whatever you want to do we can.”

Peter nods and turns his gaze to Tony’s, “If you let me focus on you, I won’t get as worked up, if that’s ok.”

Tony lifts a hand and brushes his knuckles against Peter’s cheek, affection warm in his chest. “Whatever you need,” he reaffirms, smiling softly as Peter beams and then leans down to kiss him slowly.

Peter stays there, kissing him, until Tony starts to feel his cock slowly taking interest. “Just relax,” Peter whispers against his lips, “let me do everything. I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, and the heat in his voice sends a shiver down Tony’s spine.

“Yea, yea okay.”

———————

Tony’s not sure how much time has passed, he’s too focused on how good everything feels. His whole body glows with pleasure and Peter hasn’t even put his mouth or hands anywhere near his cock.

He’d turned Tony over and massaged his shoulders and back, pressing kisses over every inch of his skin as he went until Tony was limp and everything felt fuzzy around the edges. His hands were currently focused on Tony’s thighs and calves, slowly turning his muscles soft like warm wax.

“I love your body,” Peter murmurs to him, “You’re so strong, carrying the Iron Man suit, saving people, creating things.” His thumbs dig into the backs of Tony’s thighs and he groans, long and low as pleasure crawls up his spine, warm and light.

“‘M not that strong,” Tony mumbles, “suit’s designed with nanotech, much lighter,” he explains, rejecting the praise that, as always, feels unearned.

Peter’s hands pause and then there’s the heat of his body against Tony’s and his lips press to the nape of Tony’s neck gently. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ve carried the weight of the world on your shoulders for years, taken the blame when you didn’t have to, tried to fix the world’s problems and you’ve never asked for thanks.”

His voice in Tony’s ear is soft and warm, affectionate and it makes his throat clench, unexpected tears burning in his eyes. Peter’s lips press to his throat in a warm line, teeth gently nipping at his jaw and he shudders, pleasure coursing through him.

“You’re a good man Tony Stark, and I won’t let you forget it.”

This time he does cry, tears rolling down his cheeks slowly as he takes deep, uneven breaths, shoulders shaking with each inhale. Peter presses more firmly against him and tangles his fingers in Tony’s hair, lips pressing to the soft skin beneath his ear.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re safe. I’ve got you. You don’t have to be strong here with me, just let go,” Peter croons in his ear and Tony sobs, feeling the wall inside him that’s kept all his fear and exhaustion and loniless pent up crumble into rubble.

Peter murmurs soft sweet words to him as his fingers tug on his hair, lips gentle against his skin, and eventually, his tears slow. He takes shaky breaths and shifts, wiping his face dry, the lingering taste of salt on his lips. He turns his chin and Peter meets him halfway, humming softly as their lips meet.

It’s soft and slow, languid heat building in his belly as Peter kisses him, the slight weight of his body pressing him down into the mattress comforting and arousing. He shifts under Peter, hips grinding into the mattress for friction, and he gives a breathless gasp into Peter’s mouth as his cock throbs, demanding attention.

A soft needy noise crawls out of the back of his throat and his hips roll up into where Peter’s cock is pressed to his ass, then down into the mattress for more stimulation. He’s not usually like this, needy and on edge, and it makes him breathless, moaning when Peter’s teeth close around his bottom lip and tug.

“Please,” he gasps, a low, raspy whine coming from his throat when Peter shifts and starts sucking a mark into his neck. He wants, aches with it, needs to have Peter’s hands on him, soothing this need inside that feels like it’ll consume him.

“Shh, it’s okay baby, I’m gonna take good care of you,” Peter croons, moving on to unblemished skin to leave another mark. His hands pet Tony’s hair and slide over his ribs, nails leaving trails of red behind that sting and burn and then settle into his bones like glowing embers.

He drifts again, on the gentle tide of pleasure that Peter washes over him. The marks on his throat ache and when Peter goes back over them with his teeth and tongue, he shudders and whines. His cock leaks against the sheets beneath him, but he doesn’t reach down to relieve any of the ache—he’s too strung out on bliss to even think of moving.

The whole time Peter murmurs soft words to him, praise and encouragement and he feels like he’s glowing brighter with each one.

_You’re so sweet baby, such a kind man, lemme take care of you_

A low raspy noise scratches his throat and he nods, sighing when Peter switches to the other side of his throat to leave more marks.

_I love the way you moan baby, do it again?_

He does.

Over and over again.

Peter’s body shifts off him, back and away and he whines, missing the heat as soon as it’s gone. A hand runs up and down his spine, fingers tracing each ridge before sliding down to his ass, thumbs pressing into the swells of it before he’s pulled open, exposing his hole to the cool air.

Whining, he shifts restlessly, arching his hips and he’s unsure if he wants to get away from this, from being so exposed in front of Peter, or if he wants more, wants to be fucked open, loose and wet and needy.

He makes a soft noise and Peter’s mouth is suddenly on his skin, at the base of his spine and he shudders, _more_ he gasps, voice breathy with desire. Peter hushes him gently and leaves a trail of kisses down till his lips press wetly against Tony’s hole and the stimulation is enough to leave him shaking, cock drooling heavily.

_That’s it, feel that baby? Yea…I’ve got you_

The whisper from Peter against the soft skin of his hole makes him shudder and bury his face in the pillow, arousal pouring through his veins. When a tongue laves over the tight furl a moment later he groans, grinding his hips down into the sheets and moaning at the sensation.

Peter works his tongue slowly into him, licking and sucking on his rim till he’s loose and wet, hole clenching tight each time Peter’s tongue fucks into him. He’s panting and whining, thighs shaking as his gut burns with desire, the need to cum building in his body till he’s restless and aching.

A soothing hand passes over his skin, up his back and down again, holding onto his hips while Peter kisses and licks at him more. When a finger slips in alongside Peter’s tongue he keens, arching his hips and pushing back, gasping at the sensation.

_That’s it baby, feels so good, huh?_

Tony nods and writhes beneath Peter, chest heaving as he works another finger in. He hears the snap of a lid and then there’s something wet and cool being pressed into him and he shudders as it slicks up his insides.

_There you go honey, gonna get you all wet and loose, make you feel so good_

Peter whispers to him, words brushing over his skin as the younger man presses his body against Tony’s, fingers still inside him as he drops kisses to Tony’s shoulders and down his spine.

Everything is Peter; his touch, deep inside him, his kiss, all over his skin. His voice, warm and comforting as he breathes his scent in—warm like vanilla and musky like amber, salty like sweat and it makes him yearn to taste him again.

He must have verbalized the desire because then Peter is kissing him again, humming when Tony licks into his mouth, panting and whining when Peter crooks his fingers inside him and starts spreading him open, slowly, so slowly.

Peter works in a third finger eventually, twisting and curling so they press into him, searching until they find that spot that makes his mind go white and buzz like the grey screen of a broken tv. He’s careful, massaging it for a few moments before backing off and working his fingers wider, more lube applied to keep him soft and wet and easier to spread.

Tony sobs as sensation starts to overwhelm him. He’s had anal sex with more than a few people (even got Pepper to peg him a few times) but he’s never experienced anything like this desperate urge to cum, a burning in his veins that makes him want to cry each time it’s denied and pushed back.

Peter takes extraordinarily good care of him, peppering his skin with kisses as he adds more lube and starts pressing in another finger. Tony keens high and sharp, white hot pleasure rippling through his gut as his rim stretches around Peter’s knuckles, and oh god, god _he has most of his hand inside him._

Tony cums, shaking and sobbing, thighs trembling as he struggles to hold up his hips. Peter whispers soft encouragement and holds his hip firmly, steadying him before reaching up and grabbing pillows to shove under his hips. He’s shaking, breathing hard and grinding his hips, sobbing when he realizes he’s still hard.

“Shh baby, it’s ok, take a deep breath for me, okay Tony?”

Peter’s voice is firm but affectionate and though it takes a few tries, he eventually pulls in a slow, even breath. Peter rubs his back in slow, wide circles and hums quietly, murmuring praise till he feels boneless and sleepy.

“How you doin honey? Hmm? You done?” Peter asks, hand sliding up and down his spine over and over again.

Done?

No, he can’t be done, he’s still hard.

And he wants Peter inside him at some point, wants to feel him cum, wants, wants, wants.

Shaking his head, he tries to formulate words but his lips feel bruised and swollen and his thoughts are hard to collect. Peter’s hand is still rubbing his back and he take a few more slow breaths before he manages to speak.

“‘S good…like it, like you inside me,” he pants, “wan’ more,” he slurs.

“More baby? You want my whole hand?” Peter offers, sounding surprised and aroused and proud? Yea, maybe that too.

He nods, panting as his hole clenches around what’s already inside of him, the idea of more making him tremble.

“More,” he demands weakly, head rolling as he gasps, Peter’s fingers are flexing inside him, smoothing along his hot, aching insides and it, it, it feels so _much_ that he can’t tell what it is, pleasure, pain, fullness…it just _is_ and he needs _more._

“Okay honey, you can have more. Just relax for me, okay? Deep breaths and relax,” Peter croons, free hand running up and down his flank now, soothing the tremble running over his body. He takes deep breaths and focuses on the sensation of his lungs rising and falling, listens to the white noise of his blood rushing in his ears, and slowly, feels himself relax.

“So good baby, look at you all soft and pink, stretched around me,” Peter murmurs, rubbing more lube over the hot skin of his rim, the wet sound of it making him moan and fist the sheets beneath him.

Peter goes slow, twisting his wrist and working his knuckles in further till Tony’s stretched around the widest part of his hand, and then, oh then, he spreads his fingers inside him, and Tony can feel the cool air _inside him._ He sobs and shakes, sweat beading on his brow as Peter pulls his hand back till it’s his fingers spreading him wide and then works his thumb in beside them.

“God Tony, honey, you look so good,” Peter moans, hand rubbing the back of his thigh as he twists his wrist and his hand slides in further, the ridges of his knuckles catching on his rim for long, breathless moments before sliding in.

And then back out.

In…out…over and over again until Tony’s sobbing and drooling into the sheets, cock throbbing and pulsing weakly with each slow thrust of Peter’s hand into him. The wet sound of it makes his blood burn, he can imagine how open he is, imagines taking more and groans, if Peter asked he’d do it, take whatever he gave, just to hear that soft sweet voice tell him how good he is.

“Tony baby, you’re amazing, ok? I’m gonna put my hand in you, get it all the way in there, okay?”

Tony manages a nod and Peter leans down to kiss his back, tongue swiping up the sweat from his skin. He shudders at the touch and then keens when Peter’s hand presses forward, forward, forward, until his hole is dragging past his knuckles and then clenches around Peter’s wrist.

His breathing is loud in his ears and he’s shaking head to toe, sheets drenched in sweat and stained with cum, and all he can think is _more_.

“More, more, please more,” he moans, words garbled by the needy sobs wracking his chest, his voice hoarse and broken as he begs, _more more more._

“Shh, I’ve got you Tony. You’re so strong, taking me like this, letting me in, letting me make you feel good.”

Tony arches under the praise, tears wetting his cheeks as Peter twists his fingers and rubs them against his insides, seeking out that spot within him once more. When he finds it, light sparkles up his spine and he cries out, body shuddering violently as he cums, a choked scream getting lost in the sheets as it goes on and on.

Everything falls away as Peter works his fingers over that spot, the wet sound of his hole and the soft words of praise making him arch and rock back, desperately seeking more. Air rushes back into his lungs when the veil around the world drops away and he can suddenly see and feel and hear everything in technicolor.

He feels hot and overworked but he needs, desperately to have Peter inside him. “P-p-please,” he whines, stuttering over his words, “n-need you-uuu in-in-inside me.”

“Okay baby, just hold on,” Peter murmurs, hand pulling back, slipping out of him by degrees, lube sliding down his sac and over his aching cock, now limp and sore. When his hand slips free with a wet pop, they both moan, Tony louder when Peter’s fingers toy with his rim for a moment before he’s gently guiding Tony over and onto his back.

His eyes are bleary and his face feels red and hot, but when he looks at Peter, all he sees is adoration in his gaze. The younger man leans down and kisses him, clean hand tangling in his curls to arch his throat and lick into his mouth.

They stay that way till Tony whines and arches his hips, needing Peter inside him with a desperation that borders on pain. Peter runs a soothing hand over his hip and gently rearranges the pillows so they’re under his hips and doing most of the work of keeping him lifted up. Peter kisses him again, soft and sweet and then he feels the blunt pressure of his cock against his hot, stretched hole and whimpers deep in his throat as Peter keeps kissing him, soothing him with gentle kisses and whispers of encouragement as he slowly pushes inside him. 

He’s so swollen and hot inside that it’s a strain to have Peter inside him for a moment, and then as he rolls his hips and slides through the mess of lube inside him, it’s ecstasy. There’s no way he can get hard again, but it’s enough, to feel Peter deep inside him, the hard length of him pressing against his soft, pliable walls. 

Peter pants softly, eyes hooded with pleasure as his hips rolls, thrusting slowly, steadily, cock dragging over his prostate and the stimulation is enough to bring tears to his eyes, too much and absolutely perfect all at once. He struggles to keep his eyes open, but he wants– _needs_ –to see Peter, to watch him as he moans Tony’s name softly, lips pink and wet from kissing Tony. 

“God Tony, so good,” he pants, smiling unevenly as he brushes his fingers through Tony’s hair, “You’re so beautiful baby, God, I just wanna watch you fall apart forever. Watch that weight drop from your shoulders,” he whispers in a raspy voice. 

Tony moans and rocks his hips into Peter, gasping at the stimulation, gasping breathlessly when Peter leans down to kiss him again, arms winding around his shoulders to hold him close as he continues to rock into him over and over again, slow and steady and utterly perfect.

“I’m gonna cum honey, can I cum inside you Tony? Please baby?” Peter gasps against his lips and Tony nods frantically, kissing him hungrily as Peter rolls his hips faster, the friction against his prostate making lightning crawl up his spine and a breathless gasp punch from his lungs. 

“God Tony, you’re so good, I can’t…”

Peter shakes his head and moans, hips stuttering and a moment later heat fills Tony. They share a low groan and Peter thrusts harder a few times before stilling, the muscles of his arms taut as he holds himself up off Tony. With a whine in the back of his throat, Tony tugs at his hips and pulls the younger man down onto him. 

Peter laughs breathlessly and nuzzles his face into Tony’s throat, lips placing lazy kisses against his skin as they breathe unsteadily together. Tony wraps his arms around Peter’s waist, fingers sliding up the ridges of his spine, memorizing every inch of him he can get his hands on. He feels it when Peter lifts his head but can’t summon the energy to open his eyes, smiling faintly when he feels lips against his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, temples, eyelids, chin and lips. 

He’s sleepy and content, even as sweat and cum and lube dries to his skin, but eventually Peter _lifts_ him out of bed and _carries_ him to the shower, arms firm around his waist as the younger man washes him gently. He’s just as gentle when he guides Tony back to bed and collapses next to him, arm slinging around Tony’s hips to pull him back so Peter can spoon him. 

He falls asleep with a smile on his lips and contentment deep in his bones. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Peter wakes in the middle of the night he’s not entirely sure why at first, and then he reaches out and realizes Tony’s gone from their bed. Panic floods his mouth, tangy with copper and he stumbles from bed, sheets tangling around a foot before he fights his way free and tugs on his briefs before hurrying downstairs to search out Tony. 

A fire outside burns low and he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Tony in a chair, thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stares up at the sky. He steps outside and walks over slowly, wondering if perhaps Tony is regretting what happened. He’d seemed incredibly happy during and after, but Peter knows from painful experience that sometimes regret doesn’t set in until far too late. 

At his steps Tony looks up, smiling tiredly, but happily. Fine lines crinkle near his eyes and he shuffles a hand free of the blanket to hold out to Peter. He takes it happily, standing beside Tony’s chair while he smiles down at the older man. 

“You okay?” he asks, “are you hurting?” 

Tony smirks and tugs on his hand, “C’mere,” he murmurs, pulling till Peter goes into his lap, legs swung over the side of the chair and Tony nuzzles his nose into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He hums softly and inhales, “You smell so good,” he whispers affectionately. 

Peter grins and wraps his arm behind Tony, fingers curling in his dark hair, tugging gently. Tony hums again and nudges his nose against Peter’s neck. They sit like that while the fire falls to embers and the sky overhead glimmers with the lights of the universe–a private display of beauty just for them it feels like.

“You okay?” he asks again, tugging the soft strands of Tony’s hair through his fingers slowly, enjoying the sensation of something so silky against his skin. 

Tony hums and nods faintly, breath soft against Peter’s neck. “Perfect,” he whispers. 

“Does anything hurt?”

A slow lazy roll of his head.

“Feel good. Little sore, but it’s good.”

Peter smiles softly and bends his neck to kiss Tony’s hair, “Good, I’m glad,” he whispers, breathing a sigh of relief; he hadn’t thought he’d hurt Tony, but if he had he would have felt terrible. “What are you doin out here then?” he asks softly, fingers stroking through Tony’s hair. 

Tony hums and lifts his chin so he’s looking up at Peter with sleepy, happy eyes. “Thinkin bout the future. What comes next.”

Peter nods slowly, he can’t deny he’s wondered what would happen after they slept together; would Tony tire of him? Want to return to New York? “And what’s next?” he asks hesitantly, studying Tony’s face as the older man smiles up at him. 

“ _You_. Being wherever you are. Being with you.”

Peter stares at him for a moment before a slow smile spreads over his face and he laughs brightly, nodding enthusiastically as he leans down to kiss Tony. The older man hums happily and leans into the kiss, eyes falling shut as Peter cups his jaw. His lips brush against Tony’s as he pulls back and stares into his chocolate eyes, overwhelmingly happy for the first time in a very long time. 

“Sounds perfect,” he whispers. 


End file.
